


Old Blood

by beautifulwhensarcastic



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, Medieval, Mentions of Prostitution, Mentions of forced christening, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:50:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9551720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulwhensarcastic/pseuds/beautifulwhensarcastic
Summary: Steve had never expected to play such a significant role in restoration of the Old Blood's reign, but fate put him so close to Princess Margaret that he can't miss the opportunity to act on behalf of old prophecies.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steggyisimmortal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steggyisimmortal/gifts).



> A short one shot from the medieval universe in which Peggy is the princess reigning the principality left to her dynasty after king Alexander takes over the throne. Though she's not aiming to get back the crown that once belonged to the Craters there are people who fiercely support that idea. People worshipping old gods against Pierce's enforced Christianity. They secretly weave many plots and small battles to bring the old blood back. Steve is one of them. 
> 
> * * * 
> 
> Big thanks to steggyisimmortal who co-created this universe with me and is always there to listen to my most crazy ideas.
> 
> Loosely inspired by the story of Mistletoe from "Korona Śniegu i Krwi" (The Crown of Snow and Blood) by E. Cherezińska.

Long daggers at her sides clink with each quick step she takes down the corridor. Truthfully, that sound has always annoyed Peggy, yet brings a sense of reassurance. She never leaves her chamber unarmed.

Though it could be a tad tempting to use a dagger against someone who simply irks her. She has always had some difficulty controlling certain impulses.

The incident caused by the frosty bitch, Whitney, taught Peggy to carry a weapon on her at all times. No matter how efficient and trustworthy Peggy's guards are, somehow Pierce's scheming wife finds ways to threaten the life of the last remaining Carter.  

Reaching the bedroom at the end of a long, dark hallway, Peggy pushes the double door open and bursts inside. The irritation and impatience with which she's been treating her troop on the way to the castle disperses instantly.

He's here.

James said he would be and Peggy knows the leader of the hunters made sure of that. His sneaky escape poked at the warrior's pride.

Steve tends to have that effect on people.

As for Peggy, she's both angry with him and amused. It's so very like him to go against the order if it collides with his plans. Stubborn, reckless man.

But her heart warms at the sight of him.

Steve's laying on her bed with his feet planted on the floor in readiness to jump up and run at any given chance. His upper half, however, looks deceptively relaxed. He's got his hands under his head, gaze fixed on the shimmering, pale courtains of the canopy.

It reminds her of the very first night she had him at The Blue Stork.

His physique drew the attention of many. Peggy herself appreciated the possibilities she saw in his chiseled, sturdy jaw and broad shoulders. But it was his witty reply to Samuel's advances that made her play the superiority card and have him for herself. There was something about his unobtrusive behavior that she liked - a bite to his seduction.

She had never expected to get addicted.

She shouldn't have taken him that night. Or come back the next Saturday. And the following one. She definitely shouldn't have paid Winnifred, the overly hospitable but greedy owner of the brothel, to ensure Steve had no other clients but Peggy.

Then, frustrated with irregular visits that left more thirst than satisfaction, Peggy took him to the castle - once again paying more than enough to compensate Winnifred for losing one of the workers.

Steve himself seemed quite happy with how things had progressed. Surprised, but pleased.

Natasha reasonably pointed out that anyone would be happy about moving from a brothel into a castle, living out some sort of a highly improbable, romantic fantasy.

Peggy doubts Steve has ever had any idyllic expectations of their relationship. Even as it progressed and deepened he still seemed to treat it as if she could throw him out any day. 

Yet, at times, she cannot shake the feeling that he sees some sort of a gain in what they have. As if by being so close to her he can fulfill some unknown mission that isn't necessarily linked to pleasing her.

"You're here," Peggy doesn't even try to hide the relief in her voice.

Having seen mostly blood and death for the past week, the sight of Steve alive and well fills her with lightness.

Word about Steve's disappearance had come the day before the battle finally ended. Though she had wanted nothing more than to ride back to the castle and lead the search for him herself, Peggy couldn't do that. She appointed James and his team, suggesting they focus on roads leading to the Fallen Valkyrie.

That fucking mountain had always creeped her out, but now the hatred increased with new reasons.

The ride back home - more rushed than it should be considering the number of wounded they've had - she spent filled with worry and annoyance.

Now, Peggy's not sure if she wants to yell at Steve first or wrap herself around him. She could do both at once, she thinks.

When she speaks Steve merely turns his head to the side, looking at her blankly.

"Of course I'm here," he snorts, though his face stays impassive. "I belong to you, my lady."

The stab is well aimed. It hurts Peggy to hear those words dripping with bitterness when he used to say them with such softness and devotion.

She closes the door and takes a deep breath, preparing herself for another battle - this one much worse than the bloodshed she participated in a few days ago.

With jerky moves she removes the daggers, tossing them on the table. 

"You're gonna be so dramatic about it?" her tone is harsher than she intends it to be, but as the words spill out it brings a prickle of satisfaction to act out on her anger.

Steve swiftly sits up. Peggy has quickly learned how fast and agile he is despite the stoic veneer. Though, admittedly, that observation was made in more pleasant circumstances.

He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and clenching his hands into fists.

"I was hunted and dragged back by your people like a fucking fugitive, Peggy!" He snaps at her. "That definitely adds a dramatic streak to it."

"Not a fugitive, but a moron who went against my orders and nearly got himself killed!" Peggy yells back, throwing the leather gear belt across the room. She should've aimed at his head instead.

Forbidding him from leaving the castle wasn't an act of possessivenes on her part.  At least, not entirely.

Ward had attacked the southern borders of her principality and his scouts undoubtedly penetrated the land, lurking in the woods outside the castle. Ready to take anyone valuable to her. 

"Now who's being dramatic?" Steve rolls his eyes and stands up. He doesn't walk over to her, but moves toward the round, wooden table and the pitcher that's there. He fills a silver goblet with wine and drinks from it, not once glancing Peggy's way.

Peggy crosses her arms on her chest, cocking her head to the side. It's possible he's avoiding eye contact at the moment because she's right and he hates admitting it. Usually it's the other way around.

"Were you or were you not in the middle of a fight with two scouts when James found you?" She arches a brow at him.

"I was doing fine," Steve shrugs and finally peeks at her over his cup. A faint blush covers his cheeks.

He was doing fine. Well, fine-ish. Better not to mention the lacerations on his left side. These are mostly healed now anyway, thanks to the herbal paste he's churned and put on the cuts two days ago.

Judging by the furious flash in her eyes, Peggy doesn't believe his bullshit for a second. A courtesan, skilled in art of seduction and sex, is not a match for two trained, armed warriors. Even if he is as tall and broad as Steve is.

He's got deretmination and courage, she'll give him that, but his fighting skills are close to zero.

Steve straightens, tilting his head slightly to the side. He eyes Peggy with curiosity, similar to the way he looked at her the first few Saturdays she came to him at The Blue Stork. As if she was more than an average client, but not for her royal status.

He saunters towards her. Somehow, even now when she's annoyed with him, her eyes are drawn to his silhouette. Steve moves with the grace of a dancer while still possessing the dangerous sharpness of a predator.

Maybe it's linked to his heritage and upbringing, rooted so deeply in the dark heart of the woods. Steve springs from the last remaining pagans that live in the wild forests surrounding forsaken mystic points like Fallen Valkyrie or The Howling Gulch. People still devoted to the old ways and prophecies.

Tribes that survived Pierce's bloody christening of the kingdom's population.

Steve stops in front of her, bringing the chalice to his lips. Long eyelashes flutter against his pinked cheeks as he takes a sip, then he opens his eyes and looks straight at Peggy. In a way that instantly evokes thoughts of his lips drinking from her.

He lowers the cup, bringing it to Peggy's lips. Waiting. After a long moment of battling the catty temptation to smack his hand and spill the wine all over him, Peggy gives a tiny sigh and opens her mouth.

Steve carefully tilts the cup so she can sip and Peggy wraps her fingers around his wrist.

The sweet, earthy flavor fills her mouth, quickly spreading warmth through her limbs. Calming her.

She's sure Steve adds something to the wine whenever they drink together, making it taste so delicious. A pinch of herbs or something she prefers not to think of. When she tries the wine alone it tastes disappointingly normal.

Peggy licks her lips, chasing the flavor, as Steve gulps the rest of the wine hastily. He throws the cup aside, flashing her a lopsided grin when it crashes into something with a loud clank.

She doesn't care much about the chalice. Not when Steve's fingers are on the the buttons of her jacket, skilfully releasing streamlined gems from the loops.

He does it slowly, reveling in every inch of silky fabric beneath it that clings to her curves.

"I'm sorry I got you worried," at Steve's words Peggy lifts up her gaze from his long fingers to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry I ignored your order," Steve undoes the last button and pushes the jacket off her shoulders.

As he puts his hands on her waist and runs them over the soft fabric Peggy closes her eyes for a second, savoring the feeling. She's missed his touch so much.

When he yanks her blouse out of her pants, she opens her eyes an quirks a brow at him. "And what exactly does _that_ apologize for?"

Instead of answering he tugs on the ribbon loosely tying the fabric around Peggy's chest. It gives away easily. Silky material falls to the sides, exposing Peggy's breasts. A silver pendant on a thin, leather strap hangs between them. Three circles enclosing a crystal star.

_"Shouldn't I be the one showering you with gifts?" Peggy laughs softly, still a little breathless, when Steve places a pendant on her belly. With a finger he pushes it up her chest until it rests between her breasts._

_For a moment it seems he didn't hear her at all, his eyes focused on the moonlight caught in the crystal. The cloudy gem begins to clear, glinting with sparks reminding Steve of the Summer Solstice bonfires. Most of all it reminds him of his mother's necklace. Two dozen little, brass caddies holding white crystals, reflecting shadows and spirits carrying power and prophecies._

_One tear of crystal was the only thing he had left of her. And now its polished chunk regains its power from the Old Blood._

_Steve touches Peggy's breast gently, running his knuckles along the roundness then cupping it in his palm. He leans to kiss the other one. "It would mean a lot if you wore it," he murmurs against her skin, once again peeking at the pendant. The star twinkles as if winking at him._

_It would mean a lot to him personally. As well to the wild tribes and all the people awaiting the return of the Old Blood to the throne._

Steve runs his fingers down the column of her neck and lower, merely ghosting his fingertips over the crystal. The energy in it pulses steadily, gaining strength with each passing week. It fills Steve with a sense of growing completion, even though they're merely halfway in the journey of restoring the proper order. He won't tell Peggy her victory over Ward brought them so much closer to the final goal for she still huffs at him whenever he mentions Carters' legacy.

He slips his fingers under Peggy's breast, grasping it firmly. It sends a pleasurable jolt down her spine.

However, when Steve bends to put his mouth on her Peggy grabs a fistful of his fair hair and yanks it harshly, pulling his head away.  

She looks at him expectantly, rolling her eyes when Steve grins remorselessly. She wants to hear more - not of apologies, but the true motivation behind his escape. Is an annual pagan celebration more important than his own safety?

Steve purrs like a big cat, butting his head into her hand, then abruptly turns his head, twisting from her grasp. He catches Peggy's hand and presses his lips to the sensitive tissue on the inside of her wrist. Then leads a path of soft kisses up her forearm, flicking his tongue in the hollow of her elbow that leaves a wet spot on the silk of her blouse. 

It elicits Peggy's gasp, a sound upon which Steve's eyes darken. A reflection of passed bonfires flashes in the crystal star.

For someone who's expected to eagerly give himself to his client's whims, Steve sure is more into taking. 

Peggy refers to their meeting as the night she first had him, but the more she thinks about it the more she realizes it was Steve who did the taking.  

And while giving her pleasure in ways no other lover ever had, he also took a chunk of something else - a part that made Peggy constantly crave him, made her come back to him. Wary of the spirits, Natasha said the pretty pagan boy had put a spell on Peggy. Ever pragmatic Maria blamed his dick.

Peggy agreed with the latter. Later, though, she couldn't shake off the feeling that there's something more to Steve. Something mystic. Not obvious, though. At least not in ways one would look out for. He wears his beliefs in silence and humility that creates an illusion of vulnerability.

She doubts he ever is really vulnerable. More successful in his sneaky ways than he's given credit for.

Look how quickly Peggy allowed him to take her heart. Without magic, simply because he's Steve. 

She doesn't protest when he takes off her blouse and marks the skin on her shoulders with kisses and bites. Hands gripping her buttocks, Steve picks Peggy up and carries to the high wooden bench by the wall. Carelessly knocking silver candelabras and applainces out of the way, Steve plants Peggy on the bench and kneels down to take off her shoes. 

He's awfully efficient in his impatience to get her naked. Peggy can't say she isn't happy that he gets rid of her knee-high boots without cutting the straps. However, one pantleg stays tangled around her ankle, left be as Steve hastily spreads her legs.

Then he's there between her thighs, mouth hot and demanding against her center.

Peggy could blame the separation and post-battle adrenaline (as well as post-worry for her reckless lover) for the intensity of it all, but it's always a rush with Steve. Bastard knows where and how to touch her to make her yield. Whether due to his professional skills or because he truly belongs to her, Steve explores Peggy with a great fascination, memorizing all details. In a way similar to one revealing a grand mystery piece by little piece.

Slipping her fingers into his hair, Peggy pulls his head closer, tilting her hips up to his mouth. By the time Steve mercifully switches his attention to her throbbing clit she's sopping.

A nearly violent trust of his fingers in addition to his tongue relentlessly flicking her nub makes Peggy come with a strangled cry. 

Steve curves his fingers inside her and pushes her up, up,  _up_  further into blinding aftershocks. Untils she's boneless and mewling. Head dropped low, her braid a total mess.

Peggy's legs hang limply, thrown over Steve's shoulders. Slacks comically dangle from her ankle. 

Her breath is erratic as she curls herself over him, kissing his ruffled hair where her fingernails needled his skull. Judging by the purr that vibrates on her swollen flesh he doesn't mind the prickle of pain. 

The kiss Steve seals on her lips, before Peggy even registers his movement in her haze, is just as obscene. All mess and his tongue, and her slick. 

He leaves her panting as he slips her legs from his shoulders and stands up. Peggy glares at him. The sight of Steve looking equally disheveled as she feels is merely a small consolation. 

"Kupala's Night is important to me." 

Flickering lights of the candles form arcane glints in his skin as he peers at her over his shoulder, his profile a breathtaking flame in the shadowed chamber. Not for the first time Peggy's got this unsettling feeling in her gut that bears hints of thrill under layers of wariness. At times she forgets there's something incredibly fascinating about Steve - an echo of dreams she used to have as a very young girl. Dangerously dark and tempting dreams.

His usual softness efficiently clouds that acute streak about him. Distracts her from investigating him further.

Peggy stares at Steve somewhat dumbfounded, surprised he's coherently replying to her unspoken questions. And annoyed he doesn't even sound breathless after eating her out with such hunger. 

"I know," she blinks repeatedly, finally shaking herself out of the daze. "I do know that, Steve. And I respect it. But I seriously doubt your gods would profit from your death." She yanks the pants completely off her legs and kicks them to the side. She stands up sharply. "Surely you could celebrate it inside the castle." 

Though her body feels melted, Peggy walks without a slightest wobble. Even with her braid all scraggly and the flush staining her skin she still moves with a sheer power that makes people move out of her way. Steve watches her as she saunters toward the bed. 

They both know the way she crawls onto the mattress is deliberate to command his immediate response. And he does. He swiftly pulls the shirt over his head then undoes his slacks. Never let it be said that a princess can't learn anything from her courting lover. Tricks useful in diplomacy as well in the bedroom. Even if her beloved knows them by heart.  

When Steve stands at the foot of the bed, bracing his hands on the wood canopy pillars and eyeing Peggy with unmasked hunger, her gaze drops to his hips.

The intricate, bluish pattern that curves around his left hip, dipping low into a thick thatch of dark curls, rushes Peggy's blood whenever she sees it. Made her wet the first time Steve got naked for her. And does so in every instance. 

"We're not Christians," Steve's voice bears no trace of revulsion, but the resentment is always palpable in the snarky undertone whenever he mentions religion that's been forced upon the lands of Pierce's kingdom. Brutally. "Mortification in solutide is not our form of celebration. Sharing happiness and excitement with others, combining energy..." Peggy's breath hitches when Steve kneels at the edge of the bed and traces his fingers up the inside of her legs. "That's what we do. We follow the instinct." Steve's voice lowers.

Peggy's sure she hears an actual growl in his exhale as Steve moves further onto the bed. Trapping her. "Nature's course. We don't bend-"

He pauses and grips under her knees, bending her legs and spreading them wider. 

"Steve." Any warning in Peggy's tone lacks in force, drowned in a moan that spills out of her lips when he dips his fingers between her wet folds. And there's that rumble in his chest again, making her feels as if she fell prey to a beast. 

"-other's backs to raise our bloodied altars," Steve finishes and stretches himself above her, pinning her body to the mattress.

Peggy's heartbeat quickens. She gasps when he presses into her dripping core. At that poing Peggy's too aroused to roll her eyes at his hum of approval to her responsiveness.

Steve buries himself inside her in one, hard thrust. Efficiently cutting short Peggy's thoughts reflecting her instilled reluctance toward her ancestors' beliefs, which he stubbornly kept throwing in her face in more and less subtle ways.

But there's the echo of drums pumping in her blood when Steve sets a rough rhythm. He fucks good. Peggy's got attentive lovers, inventive too, but never anything as... wild as she has with Steve. It's like he tugs not only on her oversensitive nerves, but on something much deeper inside.

A chord linking her to the old world more than her parents would've wanted. More than Pierce and his cold bitch of a wife would've liked.   

Peggy's unaware how strongly it connects her to Steve and people of his kind. Nor of the significance this yet unknown alliance will have in her future.

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's just a brief mention in the story, but the actual christening of lands in medieval times was often bloody and brutal. Especially on Slavic and Nordic territories which were viewed by the Holy Roman Empire as barbaric. Lords who wanted profits from bonding with the Roman Empire vowed to convert to Christianity. While the kings and lords did it of their own will, the common people weren't given much choice - they were threatened to follow (rather reluctantly). Who refused getting baptised was killed. The 'old' sanctuaries of pagans were all burned to the ground as well. 
> 
> Let it be noted I'm not a specialist on that matter, but researches for my other project fed me so many information that now I weave it into other stories. Oops.


End file.
